


i saw your eyes (and you made me smile).

by badmeetsevil



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hand Kisses, Hospitals, M/M, Tom Blake Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badmeetsevil/pseuds/badmeetsevil
Summary: Tom sees a shine in his eyes like he’s never seen before.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	i saw your eyes (and you made me smile).

**Author's Note:**

> this is just something kinda short and sweet that i whipped up because i cannot stop thinking about will kissing tom's hand. fuck. i missed them so bad.
> 
> title from space age love song by a flock of seagulls

Tom wakes up. 

He’s uncomfortable, is his first thought. Not in pain, but feels the need to shift around. He doesn’t remember much. He remembers a farmhouse, and a plane, and fire, and he remembers Schofield. He never could forget Scho. He remembers their hands intertwined and Scho’s hand clutching his shoulder like he might slip through, like the sands of an hourglass. He goes to raise his arm to touch his shoulder, like he might find him there, and all he finds is his own cold skin.

He blinks up, and the lights are dull, it must be dawn. He doesn’t know what day it is, or how long he’s been out. His vision comes back to him slowly. He still feels asleep.

There’s this dull feeling in his abdomen, and he looks down to check it. There’s a thin sheet covering his body, and he moves it slowly, like he’s uncovering a corpse in a morgue, like he’s going to reveal something no one on Earth wants to see. It feels a bit dramatic for him to think that, but he continues with the slow reveal.

It’s just a bandage. 

There’s no blood, no gash, no open wound like he expected there to be. It doesn’t hurt. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s just the feeling that it’s _there_ that throws him off. Like when you have a crick in your neck, one that doesn’t bring any pain and doesn’t stop you from doing anything and doesn’t prevent you from moving your head; it just causes you to realize that it’s _there_. 

He touches it tenderly, and the muscles in his stomach contract like it hurts, but he doesn’t _feel_ it. 

His memory returns slowly as he wakes up fully, the knife and the pilot and the crash, the water and the insisting that he needed to help him. He’s always been the naive type, the type to help everyone even when they wouldn’t bat an eye towards him if he needed it, but he never expected it to get him here. He remembers Schofield trying to help, doing what he can, making him comfortable and making him feel as safe and reassured as he could in what he believed could have been his final moments. He remembers Schofield’s lips on his forehead, his thumb running over his knuckles, and he remembers being so in shock that nothing seemed to hurt. 

Then, he remembers darkness. 

He looks around, for anyone, for any semblance of where he is, and he sees him. 

Schofield is asleep in a chair next to him, a casual hat draped over his eyes, still in his uniform, his arms crossed in a tense position, one that keeps him upright despite being asleep, though he’s not sure if he is fully asleep. His hands shake still, tremors that wrack through him now like existence scares him, and Tom’s sure that that’s not too far off. 

Tom shifts uncomfortably again, and the stirring of sheets seems to be enough to wake him up. Scho pushes the hat up and off of his eyes, and turns back to look at where Tom is laying. It takes a minute, but with one slow blink, he realizes he’s not dreaming. 

Tom sees a shine in his eyes like he’s never seen before. 

Schofield’s mouth opens in an attempt to say something, to find some words that mean something, to find some words that mean _anything_. He opens and closes his mouth multiple times, like he’s just speaking air, and then he just looks at Tom. Fondness in his eyes, and the slightest hint of a smile. 

“You’re awake,” Schofield says, and Tom nods. 

“I’m awake, Will,” Tom tells him, his voice hoarse and thick, like he hasn’t spoken in weeks, and a real smile graces Scho’s hardened features regardless. 

Will picks up a glass of water, and stands up over Tom. He cups the back of his head and gently brings the glass to his lips, quenching Tom’s clear thirst with a gentleness that one might give a calf when nursing it. Tom sighs, both satisfaction and fondness seeping through when Will pulls the glass away and places it back on the counter. 

There’s a million things that Will wants to say. Tom can see him holding back in his eyes. He can see how he looks over his shoulder when he scoots a chair closer to him. He can see how he looks at him. Even in the dimness of the morning light, barely a ray of sunshine through the windows, barely any light reflecting off of the tiles on the hospital ground, Tom can see how Will looks _different_ when it’s just the two of them. 

He’s more gentle in his face, more kind features, like he’s not hiding anything. Like he doesn’t _need_ to hide anything. 

Will’s reaching for Tom’s hand before Tom can even realize it. He massages the skin gently, a calming, repetitive motion for the two of them. He holds Tom’s hand in both of his, like he’s handling a fine diamond or a pearl, and he rubs the soft flesh with his thumbs. He holds gently, but hard enough so that Tom can’t help but feel like he’s being protected. 

He somehow feels like it’s an apology for what happened before. 

Will’s raising Tom’s hand to his lips before he can think, and Tom watches him. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of his hand, over each one of his individual fingers, over each of his knuckles. Tom watches, a deep blush forming on his cheeks, and a gentle laugh coming out, voice more clear, more like his own. 

Tom has a million questions, like how long he’s been out and where he was and how Will was even here if he was still in service and where Joe was and if the mission was successful, but he can’t quite form them into sentences yet. And he doesn’t want this to end. 

Will flips Tom’s hand over and presses a kiss to his palm, one that says, “I’m sorry this happened,” and one that says, “Thank you for staying,” and one that says, “Thank you for fighting,” and one that says, “I love you,” and a thousand more that say, “I love you.” Tom swears he can hear Will muttering, “I love you,” after a few kisses. 

It’s tender, it’s Will, and nothing hurts anymore.


End file.
